Meditation

You awake,
your mind a mix of dreams and now,
so perfectly mixed together
you cannot be sure
which is which.

And so you lay there
as the light of leaves
dance through the window shades,
as the wind (Is it cold?
Is it warm?} rattles the window panes.

Here, it is safe.
You do not have to decide
between angels and demons.
You do not have to struggle
to understand.
There is no hope here,
but neither is there fear.

You shut your eyes
and feel.
Slowly. Systematically,
starting with your toes,
you feel. You examine,
not with eyes, but with senses
once atrophied, now acute,
everything. You feel the tiny aches
that get blurred by a day of action.
You feel
the air in your lungs.
You feel your heart,
each beat.

You feel your heart,
every fear and hope
and allow them to find their place.

It is slow, this waiting,
and to someone watching
you are still as death.
But as life courses through you
and the dreams fade to fact,
you know
you are never more alive
than now.

About this poem

I meditate almost every day. It has been a profound difference maker in my life and art. Everything I do, work, life, art, faith has been and continues to be enhanced by it. I have gone from skeptic to evangelist to simply one who does.

Tom